“Aria!” Trevor calls out my name and waves. “I’m going to grab a coffee and then I’ll join you.”
I nod and reach for my pastry, taking a bite. The buttery flakiness melts in my mouth. I could eat this for breakfast every day. I came across this cute bakery my third day here in Italy. After spending the first two days crying, then spending over two hours video chatting with my therapist, whom I still talk to on a bi-weekly basis, she insisted I get out of the flat and explore.
When I left Nevada and stepped on the plane to Italy, I had no idea Gio had gone to such lengths to make sure I was taken care of, but that shouldn’t have surprised me. I don’t think there was anything he wouldn’t do for me. One look into his eyes that night when he told me we needed to talk and I knew what he was going to say. I could hear it in his voice. He had no choice but to choose his family over me. What he didn’t know was that I had made the decision before I was taken to walk away.
I guess you could say our breakup was a bit unconventional, probably because unlike most people who break up because they’ve fallen out of love with each other, we were breaking up because we were in love with each other. Gio gave me my space to heal but still constantly checked on me. A week later, I was packed and got on a plane, leaving my broken heart back in Nevada.
Gio gave me all the information I would need. A car service was waiting for me when I stepped off the plane and took me straight to the gorgeous flat he had rented for me in the heart of Florence. He had contacted an English-speaking art college, which was walking distance from my flat, and through whatever strings he pulled, he had me enrolled and starting classes two weeks later.
He got me in contact with a financial advisor to help me budget and invest my money, and he made sure Dr. Weisberg would continue to see me through video chat as often as I wanted or needed. All of this was put in writing, and the day I walked out of the bordello was the last time I saw or spoke to Gio. We hugged goodbye and I about lost it. He whispered that he would always love me and apologized for hurting me. I was too choked up to respond and so many times in the last thirteen months and seventeen days, I have wished I would have told him I loved him back, told him he didn’t hurt me, he had saved me, and I didn’t blame him for what happened with Sebastian. I didn’t need to ask Gio if Sebastian would ever be an issue. I knew he was dead and would never hurt me again.
The first several months were rough to say the least. I spoke to Dr. Weisberg daily. I missed Gio. I missed his strong arms holding me. The last intimate touch I had felt was Sebastian raping me. I had nightmares for months where I would wake up in a cold sweat screaming and reaching out for Gio. Eventually the nightmares stopped and my life turned into a robotic schedule of school, study, and sleep.
At first, I would take pictures everywhere I went, trying to create memories, but my heart just wasn’t in it. Dr. Weisberg found me a rape support group to join and I attended their weekly meetings. Now I only attend once a month because sometimes being there feels like it does more harm than good when I’m trying to move forward. And I think, for the most part, I’ve moved forward. I know it sounds crazy but I don’t think I ever truly gave myself a chance to heal until I moved here on my own.
“Hey, what’s up with the tears?” Trevor points to my face after setting his cup down. I met Trevor last semester. He’s studying photography like I am and we hit it off straight away. Okay, maybe not straight away…but eventually I did give him a chance and we’ve become good friends.
Trevor knows pretty much everything that has happened to me and is used to my tears. Any time I think about Gio, they come, and even after over a year, they still come frequently.
“Just thinking.” I swipe the traitor tears away, take a deep breath, and plaster a smile on my face. “Do you have any ideas for the presentation?”
“Yeah.” His eyes light up. Photography is Trevor’s passion. I would give anything to feel passionately about something again, but for right now I’m content with simply moving forward. “I was thinking we could call it one hundred strangers. I found it online and tweaked it a bit. We would approach a hundred strangers and ask if we can take their pictures, then make up what we think is going through their heads. Where they’re from, what their story is…”